Chapter Text
It was a blistering California day. Isla was dressed in a floral mini skirt and a white tank and it was still too hot for her. She wasn’t used to the tropical and desert heat that plagued the west coast. In fact, she hated it. The shoulder strap of her duffle bag dug into her bare skin and she could actually feel the sunburn developing on her arms. Yes, the east coast was by far more her speed, but she had never been to LA and when her best friend invited her, she had to visit.
“Hey Sam! Yeah, I’m on my way. No, I’m sure. Yes, my location is on. That’s okay, your mom needs you there and I’m a big girl, I can get to my hotel on my own.” Isla chuckled, leaning against the light post, waiting for the walk signal to turn. She noticed a man to her right. He stood out like a sore thumb due to his pleather coat. It was way too hot for that kind of dress. Still, he was distant and didn’t look her way, so Isla’s guard didn’t shoot up just yet. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Dinner at 7 sounds good to me. I may take a nap, this heat is killing me.” The walk signal turned green. “Yeah I know," she laughed, "I need to just call it and move to Alaska, ha! Hey do you want- oh!” The man in pleather had passed her in the crosswalk, but dropped something in the road. Isla picked it up.
A pocket watch.
“Hey! Sir, you dropped your-“ Isla’s thumb slipped, pressing the little button, and the casing popped open. At that instant, a blinding light engulfed her, and her head swam with vertigo. When she blinked the light away, the man was gone. Before Isla had a moment to process the situation, tires screamed to her right, trying to break, but it was too late. A sleek black car with tinted windows slammed into Isla, sending her to the ground, her head cracking against the boiling asphalt on impact. Her headphones went flying, along with her duffel bag. Isla tried to get her vision to focus, but her head felt heavy and it was really hard to keep her eyes open. Isla listened to a cocophony of distant voices.
“Sir! Stay in the car!”
“Is she alright?”
“Somebody call an ambulance!”
“Is that him?! Oh my god!”
"It is! Michael!"
A dark, hazy face covered in sunglasses blurred before her. “Bill! Quickly!” He shouted, before it all went black.
-0-
Michael’s life has been filled with firsts lately. First to have the most Grammy nominations, a best selling album of all time… but hitting a pedestrian so hard she had to be hospitalized?
Yeah… that wasn’t a first he wanted to have.
To his credit, he wasn’t the one driving. Bill had been the one behind the wheel, like usual. When Michael drilled him about what happened later in the waiting room, Bill insisted that the girl just… appeared out of nowhere. That a flash of light developed into a random woman crossing the street. If it were any other person, Michael would assume that they were going senile, or were just stupid, but Bill was Michael’s most trusted friend. And he knew when his friend was telling the truth.
Bill was incredibly shaken by the accident. So shaken, in fact, that Michael ordered him home for an early night after the police were done taking statements and the doctors told them she was in stable condition. After promising that he would call if anything changed, Bill finally left when back up security arrived.
Michael had lied to the doctors, saying that he was friends with the girl, stuttering over her ‘name’ when they asked for it.
“Uh.. Sh.. Sherry! Sherry.” The head doctor gave Mike raised brow, but didn’t question it.
One of the perks of being a pop star, people didn’t question you over things like that, even when Michael couldn’t provide any other information about the unconscious woman.
So, even though he was a shit liar, he was allowed to doze off for a little in the chair by her bedside in the private room Michael was paying for. He would wake when the nurses came in to check her vitals, asking after her condition. Every time, they would assure him that she was doing well, and that she just needed rest.
“Seriously, Mr. Jackson, maybe you should go home. She wont get better from you wearing yourself out.” One nurse said with a shy smile as she left the room, drawing the door closed behind her. His security team had said the same damn thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Every time he looked at the girl, he was taken aback. She had soft, feminine features with a curvy figure and dark hair. The police and doctors searched through her bag to try and find any sort of identification, but they found none. In fact, everything on her seemed normal for a girl going on a trip or a sleepover for a couple days. Except for the weird glass slab with tiny camera lenses and cordless headphones. She also had a pocket watch, but it got destroyed when the car ran it over. Her clothes were a bit odd, he’d never seen the style before, but they were cute nonetheless, and made her look gorgeous. Still, there was something about her that didn’t make sense. Something in him screamed that she was out of place, that she was unique in an illogical way.
Michael wanted some answers, and he wasn’t going to get them if he left her side.
-0-
She felt like her head was splitting open. That was the first thing Isla was able to comprehend when she first came to. A pained groan slipped from her lips as she tried to open her eyes.
“Easy now, it’s alright.” A gentle voice to her right said. “I’ll get a nurse.”
“Where-“ as the room came into view, Isla became more confused. She was in a hospital, for sure, but one that hadn’t been updated since the 70s at least. Yet it all seemed brand new. The walls were this retro rose color that reminded her of pictures of her mother’s childhood home. The person who had spoken was at the door, calling someone in.
“Hey there dear,” the doctor said, scurrying up to Isla’s side. “How are we feeling today?”
“Like my head is cracked open.” Isla quipped back.
“Well, that sounds about right. You’ve received a pretty nasty concussion and a fracture to your left ulna.” Isla looked down at the cast on her left forearm, hung in a sling around her neck. “I’m gonna ask a few questions now, I need you to answer as best as you can, okay?” Isla nodded, watching the doctor pull out his pen and begin scribbling notes down on a clipboard. “What’s your full name?”
“Isla Ann Taylor.”
The doctor raised his brow at that, sending a look over his shoulder, but said nothing. “Alright, do you know what the date is?”
“July 19th, 2026.”
The scribbling paused.
“Sorry, Isla, could you say that again? What’s the date?”
“July 19th, 2026.” Isla knew that something was wrong, with how the doctor kept his face carefully blank.
“Okay. What year were you born?”
“2002.” The doctor put his pen down and leaned forward.
“Isla, do you know who the president is?” He asked, making her groan.
“Please don’t make me say it.” She begged. When he wouldn’t budge, Isla sighed. “Donald Trump.”
“Okay.” The doctor gave her a fake smile. “I’m going to take you to get a head CT scan. Nothing to worry about, I just wanna take a look and make sure all is okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As he left, he pulled the person who had gotten the doctor outside, speaking to them for a brief moment before they returned.
Her vision was blurry, but the man looked incredibly familiar.
“What…” Why the fuck was there a Michael Jackson impersonator here? “Sorry, who are you?” Isla had to be tripping.
“I’m Michael Jackson.” The man gave her a gentle smile, pulling the chair up to her bedside. He even sounded like the guy.
“No, seriously,” Isla gave a weak chuckle. “I know that you’re ‘in character’ but my head hurts too much to handle it right now. What’s your name and why are you here?”
The man reached out and gently grabbed her hand, patting it with his own. A few of his fingers were taped up, and his hands were calloused. “I know this is a shock, but I am Michael Jackson. Bill and I were the ones that hit you with our car. Not to worry though, we are taking care of everything for you, I promise.”
Okay this guy is a nut, Isla thought. I’m in the fucking hospital and he wont break for two seconds to be honest? “Yeah nice try. You rose from the dead and I’m a fucking centaur.” She said sarcastically. The shocked and slightly horrified look on his face made her pause.
“…Rose from the dead?” He asked softly. Before they could continue, the doctor returned and wheeled her to get her scan.
-0-
Even though Michael was not family, the doctor pulled him aside when they returned. “I couldn’t find anything wrong.”
“Isn’t that good?” Michael asked.
“In theory, yes. There’s apparently no lasting damage. What is there will be healed in due time and looks promising. But… she clearly has a loose grasp on reality. Her confusion is genuine. I don’t feel comfortable discharging her without a family member to pick her up.” Michael nodded. “If she doesn’t have anyone to get her… well…”
“I’ll take her home and keep an eye on her.” He quickly offered. The doctor eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “I feel responsible, its my fault she’s here in the first place.” With a nod and a sigh, the doctor entered Isla’s room.
“Hey there! So, your CT looks good, but I’m a bit concerned about your mental status.”
Isla laughed. “What are you talking about?”
“Isla, you told me earlier that the year was 2026.”
“Yeah, it is.” Isla’s eyes darted between Michael and the doctor. “What’s going on?”
“The year is 1983, Isla.” The doctor said gently. Michael could barely stomach looking at the poor girl. Confusion carved into her features, taking over, followed closely by desperation.
“No. No that’s not possible.”
“I know this is confusing. The good news is that you’ll likely regain a sense of normalcy within a couple weeks. This isn’t forever, Isla. You need to rest. Is there anything I can do? Call family members? Friends?” Isla was staring past the doctor, back at Michael.
“No. I can call them. Thank you.” She said softly. After telling Michael he would be back in an hour to check in, the doctor left, leaving the pair alone. “I’m going to ask this one more time.” Isla spoke, her voice shaking. “Who are you?” Michael sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward.
“Isla, maybe you should get some sleep.”
“Don’t-“ she snapped, pausing and taking a breath, “don’t you dare patronize me. Answer the fucking question.” Isla was hanging on by a thread. Tears were welling in her eyes, mixing with hurt and disorientation.
“My name is Michael Jackson.” He said for the third time that day. “It is July 19th, 1983.”
One of the tears fell. Michael grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. “This… this is ridiculous. This cant be happening. I was literally on the phone with Sam, heading to her apartment when-“ Isla perked up. “My phone. Where’s my phone?”
Michael’s brow scrunched together. “You didn’t have a phone on you, but…” he grabbed her duffel bag. “Everything you had on your person is in this.” Isla snatched the bag from him, tearing through the clothes until she found the glass slab.
“Yes! Oh please….” The plea died when she clicked a tiny button on the side. The glass lit up. It was like a small television and camera in one. There was a photo of her and another girl, maybe this ‘Sam’ person, on the screen. “Shit. No signal.”
“What kind of camera is that?” Michael asked.
“Huh?" Isla didn't look up from the camera as she tapped the screen with her thumbs. "It's a phone. The new Samsung. 26? I think? I can’t remember the version.”
“That’s a phone?!” Michael looked at her in wonder as she tapped the screen, watching it change as she repeatedly touched the surface.
“Okay look, if you and the doctor are going to keep up this ridiculous charade you can at least get me a phone that works so I can call my fucking friend to get me away from you nut jobs.” Michael’s brow raised at her fiery retort. Isla had a lot of spunk, and didn’t seem to care that he was practically royalty. It was entertaining, he couldn’t lie.
“I’ll go grab one for you.” Michael slipped out of the room and retrieved his brick phone from his security. Re-entering the room, he found Isla pulling out the destroyed pocket watch in a plastic baggy.
“What the hell is this?” She muttered, more to herself than anything else. Still, Michael answered.
“It seems like a pocket watch. You dropped it when we collided and unfortunately the car ran it over.” Her brows furrowed together, like she was sliding the last puzzle piece into place. “I will pay for a new one, obviously, but if it was sentimental, I can try and have it repaired.”
“No its… its not mine.” Isla turned her attention to the brick phone in Michael’s hand. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Its the latest model.” Michael said, a bit defensively. Still, he handed it over. Isla grumbled nonsensically as she dialed a number.
“Hey, Sam?” She asked into the phone. “What do you mean? No, I’m sure, I’ve got the number in front of me. Hey-“ Isla shook her head and pulled the phone from her ear. “I know this is the right number, I was just talking to her when I got hit!”
Michael watched, silently, for about ten minutes as Isla tried number after number. Retrying numbers she had already dialed, and digging through what she called her ‘contacts,’ she grew more and more frustrated, tears beginning to well in her eyes again. Finally, Michael stepped in. He took the phone from her hands after she got rejected again, and set it on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of her bed. “Why do you not believe the evidence set out before you?” Michael asked gently.
“Because it’s impossible!” She snapped, looking up at him for the first time in a long while. “It is physically impossible for me to be here, now, experiencing this in such a detailed way. I feel pain, the clocks on the wall make sense, your faces have detail and that doctor looks nothing like anyone I know. I physically cannot be dreaming this and yet theres not another way that this could possibly be true!” Tears tracked down her face, her shoulders trembling. “I was just talking to Sam, crossing the road next to this weird ass dude who was wearing an ugly ass pleather coat in the middle of fucking July when he dropped-“ Isla went still.
“What is it?” Michael asked. “What happened, Isla?”
“He… he dropped that watch…” Isla picked up the bag again, pushing a strand of hair out of her face as she inspected the watch closer. “I picked it up, and called out to him but… it opened and a bright light flashed and… then you-“ She looked at Michael, her tears having stalled for the moment. Isla turned back to the pieces in her hand. “I don’t know much about watches, but this doesn’t look like a normal pocket watch.” Michael followed her gaze, and now that he looked closer, he found that she was right.
Where cogs and wheels should have been, what looked like electronic computer pieces were broken and splayed about. Some tiny wires were still attached to a blue iridescent circular disc. “You’re right.” Michael relented. He didn’t know much about traumatic head injuries and psychology but Isla seemed incredibly competent and well spoken. She didn’t appear to be irrational or erratic, beyond what she believed to be true. But… if she was telling the truth…
“If you are from…” saying ‘from the future’ seemed way too cliché to Michael, “from 2026. You must know things about the world that others don’t.” Isla looked up at him. He could see the ideas brimming there, just below the ocean’s surface.
“You’re Michael Jackson?” She said, though it didn’t sound like a question. Michael gave a soft smile and pulled out his wallet, handing her his ID. Her hands trembled as she took the card. “Oh my god. I’m… I’m in 1983.” That wasn’t normally what girls said when he was introducing himself but Michael figured she had bigger issues to worry about. He took back his ID as she shook, hugging herself. “I don’t… I don’t have family to go to. My mom… she's barely 18… Sam isn’t even born yet… I don’t- I don’t have anywhere to go. What am I going to do? I don’t-”
“Hey,” Michael grabbed her hands, pulling her focus before she could spiral too much. “You’re going to stay with me until we can figure out the next steps.”
Isla shook her head. “I can’t ask you to-”
“You’re not,” he interrupted gently, “I am offering. It’s the least I can do after hitting you with my car.” Michael couldn’t help it, a smirk pulled at his lips. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Isla looked up at him, vulnerable and ready to rely on someone, “you’re going to sleep for a bit longer. When you wake up, if the doctor gives you the clear, we’ll go home and get you settled in. But… if what you are saying is true… I don’t think it would be smart to mention it again to anyone else. Not even to the doctor. The more you insist on what you’ve said, the less people will trust you.”
“Do… do you believe me?” Isla searched his eyes desperately. And although Michael wanted to reassure her, the last thing he would be able to do is lie to the girl.
“I don’t know. But I believe that you believe what you are saying.” He guided her back to lay down. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Isla didn’t need much convincing.
When the doctor returned, he gave Michael care instructions. She shouldn’t read for about a week (he’d already fucked that one up with his ID), she needs to get plenty of rest, if her pupils are two different sizes or any other concerning symptoms appear, bring her straight to the emergency room. Michael listened to every detail, taking it in and intending to execute it all to a T.
“Finally,” the doctor said, “If she starts talking about being from the future again, feel free to bring her in for a psychological evaluation.”
Michael looked at the sleeping woman. Her brow was furrowed and her face was etched with concern, even in slumber. Something deep within Michael screamed at the suggestion. So, despite his agreement, Michael knew he wouldn't dare bring her back here for that.